Boxed In
by D. V. RavenTsuki
Summary: ever wondered how the box ghost died? It may not be what you might expect... Oneshot.


A/N: Hello! This is something that has been bugging me for a while. I thought about the box ghost and how funny he is, but then I started to wonder how he died. It just didn't seem right for him to die in a comedic way, so I can up with this. Also, Jacob Birch is the name I have given him. _Jacob i not an original character._ I want avoid confusion so I'm saying this now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

For the past thirteen years, since he was twenty-two, he had been confined. Confined to this cubical, confined to this career, and confined to this life. He was a faceless employee for one of the biggest software companies in the country. His job was basically proofreader the software submitted to him and he had to find and fix any bugs in the program. Sure, it was a pretty good paying job, but he had practically zero human interaction his entire day.

Everything around him consisted of squares, ad it tormented him to no end. From the square shape of his workplace, to the various squares that composed his computer, to even the rectangular-square papers which littered his desk. He felt as though they were teasing him, taunting him, ridiculing him. Yes, Jacob Birch had a miserable life.

He glanced over at the ticking clock beside him. It had just passed five o'clock, time for him to leave. On his way out, he bumped into the janitor, who was drinking coffee at the time. Unfortunately, he _literally_ bumped into him and soon found his white, clean shirt covered in wet, dripping coffee. He was thankful, at least, that the coffee wasn't scalding hot, just really warm.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jacob got home he quickly changed into a white shirt and denim overalls before putting his shirt into the hamper to be washed. While Jacob did jet payed good enough, he had a horrible problem; he was a gambling addict. He spent much of the money he earned a a casino downtown. With all of this gambling, he barely had enough money to cover his food, bills, and the rent on his apartment. His wardrobe was extremely limited and he saved his better clothes for work, preferring to wear something much simpler and more cost-effective in his off time.

He looked around him. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls of his low-rent apartment. His bed in the corner had to be propped up with a phone book under one of its legs to deal with the termite problem. The coat-hanger antenna was extremely warped from many attempts to improve the signal which would always result in a still somewhat static-filled picture anyway. Taking one last look around his pitiful home he put on a tuque before heading out to spend money that he, in his own mind, knew could be put to better use.

Jacob had been miserable for as long as he could remember. Walking through town he saw many people. Many of them down on their luck, just like him. There was even a man on the corner holding up a sign that said 'WilL WOrK FoR FoOD'. However, he also saw a young couple walking hand in hand down the street, no doubt on their way to dinner as part of a date. The two of them seemed to be discussing something, all the while the woman let out excited giggles here and there. The man smiled and there was no doubt that they were in love.

Jacob had never known that joy. From the day he had taken his job a the software company, he had felt that he would never be so lucky. He remembered graduating college with many hopes and dreams, a family being one of them. Unfortunately, the second he stepped in that building he knew that _this_ was his life. An average person living and working among other average people. He did not want to be average. And so, he spent much of his time and money gambling, in hopes of striking it rich and becoming something other than ordinary.

Finally arriving, he was about to step inside the casino when he felt a pair of arms reach around his stomach and pull him back. He was about to scream for help when what appeared to be a damp cloth was shoved below his nose and everything went dark.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"What should we do with him boss?" Jacob could bearly hear this sentence, but he definitely heard it. His senses seemed to be dulled as he was having trouble seeing and feeling his way around. he also felt extremely drowsy. Lifting up his head a bit he could make out that each of his feet seemed to be connected to what appeared to be a support beam by some rope. He also saw two blurry figures in the center of the ...room... which appeared to be a warehouse of some sort. He could tell this because, no matter how messed up his vision was, he could see boxes.

'Great....' Jacob thought sarcastically, 'a huge gathering of cardboard boxes. My favorite things in the world...'

"Well, let's see..." came another voice, he could hear it better than before, but he was still having trouble. "We've already taken his money, and seeing as how he doesn't have anything else we want, we should probably _dispose_ of him. He can't tell the police if he's dead." Hearing this, Jacob's blood ran cold. Sure he was unhappy, but he didn't want to die, and certainly not like this. In a state of frozen shock he lay in the same spot he had just recently woken up in, trying his best to find a way out of the situation.

"Boss!" yelled out a third voice. By now Jacob could tell that his hearing was slightly as time went by. "We got trouble. The cops are closing in on us! What are we gonna do!?" the man panicked.

"Don't worry," spoke the second voice, "if they don't find any evidence they got nothing on us. Now both of you go stand outside and keep them distracted." As the other two men left, the one who seemed to be their leader stayed behind. He took what appeared to be a pharmaceutical bottle out of the pocket of his jacket along with a piece of cloth. He was slowly walking towards Jacob, who had by now regained enough sense to know that if he didn't do something quick, that cloth being shoved into his face would be the last thing he would ever see.

Jacob jumped up suddenly and backed away from the thug. This action had startled the attacker who accidentally bumped into a pile of boxes beside him, setting them off balance. Forgetting the initial shock, he continued to close in on Jacob who found himself backed into a corner. Looking around for something..._anything_...to defend himself with, his eyes settled on a small wrench-like tool lying beside him. He quickly picked it up and, with adrenaline rushing through his system, he threw the object at the man approaching him.

He missed the man by about a foot and a half. Time seemed to slow to a craw as the wrench passed by him and luckily ended up hitting the pile of boxes that had previously been put off balance. As one of the lower boxed on the stack was struck, some of the higher ones began to fall in the opposite direction right on top of the attacker. In midair, the boxes opened up to reveal their contents; kitchen knives. These knives than began to rain upon the gang leader, who no doubt suffered a bloody and painful death.

After about thirty seconds of staring at the corpse on the floor, Jacob began to snap. For the longest time he had hated boxes, and in the end they had saved his life. His life had been saved by some cardboard boxes. As this thought echoed throughout his head all common sense left him. The shock of the all that had happened that night finally took it's toll on him. In a way not un-similar to a headless chicken, he began to run around the warehouse screaming "Boxes have saved my life! I take back everything I have ever said about them! I love boxes!". During this process, unfortunately, he ran out the door towards one of the police men waiting outside. The police man, thinking he was about to be attacked, fired a shot. It was a critical hit to the heart. Poor Jacob Birch never knew what hit him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jacob's funeral was taken care of by his brother who hadn't seen him in about seven years. His brother was also the only one who attended the funeral (with the exception of the priest), and wrote the epitaph on his grave.

JACOB SAMUEL BIRCH

ALWAYS MISUNDERSTOOD BUT ALWAYS THERE

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I apologize if the part right before his death was really somewhat funny. It wasn't meant to be. I basically just wanted him to go insane but that was the best I could do. Sorry.


End file.
